


absolute disgust

by blorpyextreme



Category: Danganronpa, New Danganronpa V3
Genre: M/M, characters will pop up? only for a few moments tho, haha I mean rly one sided, hinted saimota, hinting towards other ships, its kinda one sided btw, kokichis a huge asshole, mentions of other characters ig, mix of pregame and normal gameplay characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 11:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blorpyextreme/pseuds/blorpyextreme
Summary: Once upon a time,I met a boy.I hated him.





	absolute disgust

**Author's Note:**

> aight aight aight this is a bit short but give me a chance bro I'm planning longer chapters...... sweats

Once upon a time,  
I met a boy.  
He was different, quiet. He disliked looking people in the eyes. He would clutch his bag, his books, eyes on the ground. He never said hello. He never spoke. He never did anything that was different, unusual, anything to make him stand out.  
I hated that.  
I hated him.  
I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know his name, age, interests, classes, friends (hell, if he had any), nor did I care. I knew that he wouldn’t be involved in the games I played, I knew he would never meet my gaze, and I knew that I hated him.  
I loathed the way he looked. The way his messy, dark hair fell in front of his eyes, which were hardly visible due to the hat secured on his head. His pale skin and thin shaking fingers were animus, and so was the way those plain fingers clutched onto things for dear life, like letting go of whatever object would result in him falling through the earth straight to the core. I disliked the way his clothing choice never stood out, the way he kept his uniform simple and neat. Heaven forbid it was too neat, though, for he would stand out, get bullied, be noticed. But, it couldn’t be too much of a mess, for he would earn the title “slob,” people would believe he’s a bad student, he would be hated.  
It’s alright, though. I have enough hate for him, enough that nobody else in the world has to hate him except for me. My hate is enough for more than seven billion people, but I give it all to him.  
He should feel special.

 

The day I looked into his eyes…  
I realised how utterly repulsive he truly was.  
Wide gambogeish grey eyes full of fear stared directly into my own. His long eyelashes complimented his eyes in the worst possible way. Black eyelashes were visible against his pale cheeks, dusted with a pink blush. His breathing picked up when I looked unamused. I flashed a smile. He gave me a nervous glare. It was disgusting.  
I asked for his name. He avoided the question with an apology. It was absolutely annoying.  
“It’s rude to ignore my question, you know!” I let out an angry huff, folding my arms over my chest. “You ran directly into me. I should at least know your name, since you could have broken my arm or something.”  
Anxious eyes shift away. His lips shift to a tight frown, and he fiddles with his backpack straps. He seemed to do that a lot when nervous. “Oh, uhm… I’m sorry… ah, class is starting soon, huh? I should get going-” He began to turn.  
My hand grabbed tightly at his wrist. He froze.  
“Classes are over, ya big dummy!” I let out a chuckle, hand never leaving his wrist. “You’re getting annoying, you know. Just tell me your name already.”  
A pause, before another apology. A fiery anger fills my eyes, as my nails dig deep into his wrist. He lets out a soft gasp, before a whimper. I didn’t care. Why would I care?  
“Your name.” I said, my voice a bit loud and stern. He glanced around for watching eyes; perhaps he wanted to scream for help? Perhaps he was just embarrassed, he didn’t want to be seen with me. He didn’t want to be seen at all. That would be a bit hard, the longer he stood here with me instead of trying his best to run away. I was loud; my voice, my actions, the way I chose to dress and do my hair, it was always so loud. I stood out nicely. He did not. But, at this moment, as I held his wrist tightly in my small hands, he was going to be noticed by anyone in the world - or… at least, anyone around.  
He should thank the gods above that no one was around.  
“Wh-” He squeezes his eyes shut finally, and I was thankful for those few moments they were shut. I didn’t have to stare deep into those stupid, panicked eyes anymore. They sickened me. “Why do you want to know my name? Why do you care so much?”  
I gave no answer. I don’t care. Why does he not understand this? It’s so god damn frustrating, the fact that I have to explain everything to this guy. I just wish to know his name. He doesn’t deserve to be called by it, he’s not worthy enough. It would be best just to know, though.  
I stared, the angry look still in my eyes. His eyes remained closed. “I don’t care. Just tell me your name. I’m getting tired of not knowing it.” There was venom in my voice, so strong I could possibly taste it. He looked confused, afraid, tired… extremely tired. Had this dumb boy not been sleeping? What a goddamn idiot. Does he not know he needs sleep to function? Or is he just that dumb?  
“...Shuichi.” He finally said, voice soft and shaking. He sounded vulnerable. He should know he shouldn’t sound like that with just anyone, he’s going to have the shit beaten out of him one day. “Shuichi Saihara. And… you are…?”  
A forced smile came to my face, and my grip loosened on his wrist. “Kokichi Ouma!” I slip my hand down to take his, the heat coming off of him making me want to vomit the little food I actually ate at lunch. Why was he so warm? The warmth from his hands hitting my own cold hands (“dead man’s hands,” Rantaro would tease) resulted in a more neutral temperature. I pulled my hand away immediately, discreetly wiping it on my pants. “Pleased to meet you!” Those words left a bad taste in my mouth; I was anything but pleased to meet this asshole who’s been haunting the back of my mind for weeks.  
A small smile came to his face as well. It was also forced. Once his hand was free, it quickly found it’s way to clutch his bag. Anxious. “Pleased to meet you, too. Uhm… if you actually… want to talk more…”  
I do not.  
“...I could… give you my phone number…?”  
I don’t want your phone number.  
“Sure!” I faked enthusiasm, handing my phone over for him to input his number. He takes it, tapping the screen gently. I was definitely going to wash my phone once I was home. As well as my hands and my uniform, and my whole self. The air around him was filthy. He was filthy, disgusting, horrid. I despised him.  
He hands me my phone back. I slip it into my pocket. We part ways.  
I thought to myself how awful the smell of his cologne was, but how it also smelled like every other boy in the school. How desperate was he to fit in? So desperate that he feels the need to even smell like the other garbage boys? Did he go out of his way to find the specific cologne the other boys where? I definitely know he wouldn’t straight up ask someone, because that’s too strange, people would question him. It’s strange to suddenly ask someone something like that.  
I had met this boy. He was awkward, he cared too much, but he didn’t care for me at all.  
And I hated that.  
I hated him.


End file.
